Prize Pig
by kizokuk
Summary: [JOHN/DAVE STUFFING. FUNNEL USE. DON'T LIKE - DON'T READ.]


I was John's 'prize pig' for reasons I don't know or really care for. I just assumed it was because he was a massive fucking chubby chaser and well; I was a) willing to do anything to please him therefore I was also b) more than happy to let him fatten me up to a ridiculous size and was already tipping the metaphorical bathroom scales. Plus, it was hard to admit that I didn't enjoy the extra bulk that clung to my once slender frame and the difference between John and myself when it came to sex was always a turn on. But thanks to Johns expert baking skills and his determination, over the past two years I've gained four extra X's on my clothes labels and a good extra 100 or so pounds which had mainly decided to reside in my gut much to John's obvious delight - his hands roaming the creamy expanse of my gut which more often than not he'd stuffed full beforehand.  
Recently I've noticed John getting kinkier and more inventive when it came to bedroom antics, so to be perfectly honest I wasn't overly shocked when I saw the wide animal feeding trough on the back seats of his two colour - blue and rust - ford escort when he pulled up from shopping one weekend.  
"Want a hand carrying that?" I asked quizzically, watching him struggle to get it out of the damned rust mobile without injuring himself. "Haha, nah, it's not too heavy. You can grab the funnel, though." And with that he was inside the house, trough and all.  
Wait, funnel? It sat on the back seat looking lonely and intimidating, and for a moment I worried that John was actually planning on using it directly on me - because, I mean, that's fucking crazy. This was an industrial funnel we were talking about here.  
Turns out John was indeed fucking crazy. It was actually intended for me as a 'ice cream feeder' after I'd cleared the first obstacle which was of course, the trough which was to be adorned with small cupcakes with thick creams and scatterings of summer fruits. My stomach churned and gurgled in anticipation but honestly I'd never felt so nervous before at stuffing session before that evening. The idea of the whole thing, acting like an actual pig and then being force-fed ice cream through a fucking industrial funnel? I wasn't even sure if I was okay with this in the slightest; but come tea time the hunger in my stomach out weighed the nerves and I mentally prepared myself to give John the best night of his sexual life.  
My stage was our bed. It wasn't impressive or littered with rose petals, but the trough (now filled with beautifully iced little cupcakes John had spent the afternoon churning out) was positioned at the foot of it, resting on the mattress and taped to the foot board as not to fall off. I was stripped to my birthday suit and my wrists were bound with soft string as to say, 'you can break this binding, but you're not going to.'  
John didn't have to do anything for the first part of tonight since the whole point of it was that I'd do it myself. He too had stripped off; showing his lean body and taught skin across the faint hint of muscles and tendons. Skinny fucker, really.  
He mounted me from behind and laid across my back, his hands reaching down to my gut which hung heavily from my less than comfortable all fours position. Nevertheless, I began to eat much like the pig John had desired me to be.  
The cakes themselves were soft, light and addictive - all the qualities of a perfect Egbert bake. Delicate icing and frosting melted against my tongue and I thanked John mentally for making them each mouth sized.  
Knowing I had only twenty minutes at the maximum to devour the majority of the contents of the trough before I'd start to feel bloated and slow down, I ate as fast as I could - ignoring the feeling of indigestion at the back of my throat and focusing on stuffing myself for the boy who was currently gripping, wobbling and feeling my flab behind me. I knew he could hear me, if not quite see what a mess of myself I was making inside the trough, so I made an effort to moan around each of the cakes, whining with each swallow and grunting with a new mouthful.  
Fifteen minutes later and the heaviness in my stomach had started to become much more noticeable - the not so light contents had begun to weigh it down, and bloat it; the whining and moaning becoming actual noises of pleasure and pain. Either way, John rubbed and soothed and kissed along the small indent between two islands of fat in the middle of my back which was my spine. Occasionally he said horrifyingly weird things like, 'good piggy', which I wish he didn't do because fucking hell that was borderline creepy.  
In the next two minutes I found myself finishing the cupcakes. My stomach was already stuffed and I was finding it hard to breathe without causing my belly to stretch and send shoots of pain up my abdomen. John was hard, but not quite finished with me yet.  
The next five minutes were mine and John threw himself into rubbing my gut and attempting to loosen the taught skin. He paused a few times though to grip the thick, soft fat at the bottom of my ballooned gut to say that 'hey, if you're still jigglin' you're not full enough.'  
"Dave, meet Mr. Funnel," he said in a tone that was far too relaxed for the whole situation. We were both standing to attention and we both were hot and sweaty (more so myself) thinking about what was to come.  
I opened my mouth and took the nozzle of the funnel into my mouth, wrapping my lips tightly around it making a seal as to not waste any half melted ice cream that may find its way out. Sighing through the contraption, I tipped my head back, exposing and stretching out my collection of chins and waited for John to be poised ready with the soft ice cream. He tentatively dumped a spoonful into the funnel and waited until it slithered down the tube and into my mouth and down my throat. "You eaten it?" He asked, still obviously doubting his own stroke of sexual genius. I nodded and smiled around the thick tube. "Great!" He exclaimed, quickly undoing the restraints on my wrists and sitting me up with my belly resting on my wide lap and my moobs splayed on top of that still. John tentatively moved my hands to my own gut and placed them there before firmly telling me not to move them.  
"Ready then, fatty?" A smirk danced across his pale lips and I nodded, watching him closely with his ice cream scoop and tub of chilled dairy delight.  
The ice cream came thick and fast when John began to dump it into the funnel. I struggled at first to keep up with the flow of the sickly sweet half frozen treat, swallowing too slowly when really I had to be swallowing constantly. It flowed thick and fast and I felt myself groan around the funnel, sucking on it slightly (which pretty much made up Johns mind on whether he should touch his aching dick or not) and pulling the ice cream through faster through the tube and into my throat.  
The heaviness in my lap was becoming immense. Bloated, round and not jiggling as much as I was ten minutes ago; I whined softly and looked directly into Johns eyes with a pleading gaze. He speeded up with the ice cream and rubbed my burning belly in soft round circles.  
Tears welled in my eyes as I felt the skin under my hands tighten and I glanced down in disbelief as my hands were growing further apart every minute as my body stretched further over my aching stomach - the soft fat John had caressed was long gone, my whole gut had beach balled and now every scoop that slithered down the funnel spout was painful and I swore I was gonna burst and -  
John ripped the funnel from my mouth with an expression I'd never seen him make before; and could only be described as an odd mix of determination and fear.  
I'd never been so full before, and the sensation of truly being stuffed to bursting point made hot tears well in my eyes and steam down my fat cheeks, twisting Johns expression to that of horror. "Oh, shit, fuck, Dave - I'm so sorry. Lie down, lie down." I did as I was told and breathed a small sigh of relief when Johns skilled hands set to work rubbing the round mass that was now my belly. Groaning and crying as I was kissed and caressed, I opened my mouth and choked out a pathetic, "I don't like the f-funnel much." Which excited a small chuckle from John, who was clearly not listening as he was far too busy firmly rubbing my stone hard gut in a vain attempt to relieve some of the pain. It carried on for a while and I moaned and groaned to make him press a little firmer which was when it really did start to help.  
After he'd fetched me a hot water bottle, a cup of tea and had suggested running me a steaming hot bubble bath, (which would never work because right now I couldn't even move) I told him I'd much rather he help me get under the bed sheets and lie with me and hold me as I tried to sleep and hopefully speed up the digestion of my gargantuan helping of dessert; which by now was starting to feel blissfully heavy in my stomach now the skin had relaxed more around the bloated organ. I snaked my hand down my roll coated side and rubbed softly at the warm, full mass and sighed in content as John wound his thin arms as far around my massive frame as he could, placing his hands on top of mine and joining in with the rubbing, occasionally lifting my hands and patting at the thick, stuffed fat that made a loud, low sound.  
"You'll make a lot of sausages." John said about half an hour after placing his hands on mine, and I mentally thanked him once more for attempting to lift the gloomy atmosphere that now lingered between us.  
"Mm, I know," I breathed softly. "But not until my gorgeous, yet sadistic boyfriend has sucked my cock for making me cry, though."

"You want me to suck you off now, then?" John asked, pulling my belly back towards me and making me burp loudly. Satisfied with the noise, he gave it a firm pat as to say well done. "You can do if you're feeling man enough, captain funnel." I retorted, groaning softly from the pleasure that still sat in my heavy gut. "You're talking to the epitome of manliness here, Dave!" He laughed as he moved the covers off us both and crawled around to the other side of me. "Roll over, little pig."  
Rolling over when your gut is stuffed to bursting is a lot harder to do than say. With John's help, I managed to roll onto my back with my still stone hard stomach in the air, swollen and slightly red.  
It became apparent that I couldn't see anything past my bloated belly at this point - my toes becoming a thing of the past. Letting out a small groan, I carried on rubbing my gut in hopes it'd flatten and I'd actually be able to watch my own boyfriend suck me off.  
"Makes a change from me holding up your overhang." He pointed out as he positioned his mouth over my manhood.  
"Oh shut up, you love that anyway you dirty pervert. You're always grabbing it."  
"True. Though those noises you're making makes me wanna fuck you hard."  
"Yeah, you wish small fry. Now suck my dick."  
He did.  
His mouth engulfed the head of my cock and I desperately tried to push down my swollen belly to watch him, but there was no way it was gonna budge: so instead I settled for pleasuring myself further and rubbing and squeezing and moving my gut as much as I could as John eagerly worked his way down my throbbing cock.  
His hand held the base of my dick and greedily shifted the foreskin up and down as he bobbed his head in time, the noisy 'shlick shlick' of his wet mouth taking me in and out again was the only sound other than my occasional breathy moan or creak of the bed.  
Bucking up into his mouth slightly earned me and gracious squeeze of my soft thigh and a swat of a fat love handle. 'Don't do that again, asshole,' was what it clearly meant in John's weird sexual sign language.  
Rubbing along my stuffed midsection I found myself moaning more and more as John pumped and bobbed faster; and before I knew it my one hand was caressing my breasts (which any girl would be jealous of) while the other pushed and pressured my aching paunch.  
With a small whine I alerted John of my oncoming climax - giving him time to remove his mouth from me and be saved a foul taste. He didn't move and I took it as my permission to cum in his mouth, which I did a few seconds later. Moaning softly as I rode through my orgasm, I listened to John pull away with a wet sounding pop, grab a tissue from the bed side table and spit into it.  
Rosy and out of breath, I lay on my back smiling before John lay next to me and tenderly kissed my shoulder. "Better now, big boy?"  
"Yeah, thanks, dork." I flashed him a grin and rolled onto my side, facing him. My warm belly pressed against his side and he grinned stupidly every time I inhaled deeply to recover my breath.  
"Same time tomorrow?" I asked.


End file.
